Akatsuki
by Lord Darkly
Summary: To bring peace to this world, I'll...


The sky was blanketed by a dark grey curtain of clouds, blocking out the sun so that only the barest hints of powerful rays could break through, casting dramatic ribbons of light down onto the village of Amegakure.

The city, for that was what it was, towered above any other civilized corner of the world. Massive, dramatic pipe-ridden buildings spiked towards the sky, the very tips of which were just barely illuminated by sunlight.

A group of people, some Shinobi, but many not, stood huddled around a makeshift platform, made of old cardboard boxes rained on so many times they had melded together, forming a hideous, misshapen brown pile.

A man stood on this platform. He was short, surprisingly so, with bright orange hair intent on spiking everywhere. He wore a cloak, and on it, swirling red clouds danced across the surface. They spoke of change, nearly as much as the man himself.

His words were a proclamation.

"Peace," he cried raising his arms. "Is on the horizon! Too long has our village been plagued by a war we never agreed to fight! While Hanzo sits alone in his tower, plotting in secret, deaf to the cries of his people, Shinobi die by the thousands on our very doorstep, and we do nothing to protect ourselves! In his madness, our leader has forsaken us to a battlefield, one that grows bloodier and more destructive by the day!"

There was a general assortment of nods, although many scoffed at the man's words. They were the Shinobi, or involved with such. The war, as much as it had been destructive, had also been quite profitable for the steel-rich city of Amegakure, where a clever bargainer could sell a dying man a blade with which to cut down another.

And if every now and then, a collection of Shinobi, injured and weak from the battlefield, stumbled into their village, and caused a couple of deaths, that was an unfortunate side effect.

A woman's voice called out from the crowd.

"And what is your solution?" she cried, whipping her silky blue hair. "We have no means of defending ourselves! Most of us here are poor, and cannot afford to hire Shinobi to defend us, and Hanzo refuses to intervene."

"We may not have money," Yahiko agreed, smiling gravely. "But we are rich in the most important ways. All Shinobi know how to do is fight, and to kill, while we attempt to grow, and prosper! It is us, who make the supplies, the weapons, and the homes that killers enjoy, that the world truly stands upon. United, we can accomplish more than a hundred years of war! That is why I have started a new group, dedicated to defending this village."

This statement elicited quite a few murmurs. As if on cue, the blue-haired woman asked the question on everyone's mind.

"What is this group you speak of? You think more Shinobi will solve anything?"

The crowd agreed in cacophonous uproar. If there was anything they could agree upon, it was that they did not need any more Shinobi.

"Akatsuki!" Yahiko cried, silencing them. "Because the light will come. Even in the darkest, most stormy of days, we know the truth! That one day, the sun will return, and shine down upon us again. Akatsuki will defend us until that day comes, and when it does, we will lay down our weapons and our swords, and return to the world of men, because unlike those fighting this war, we do not fight for a world of bloodshed and chaos, but for peace!"

At that very moment, a new strike of sunlight broke through the heavy clouds over Amegakure, and pierced down the street, illuminating the metal city in sudden, bright reflection.

And after its sudden moment of brilliance, the light was swallowed once again, and the city returned to shadow.

Men and women cheered, but many pulled away and retreated from the assembled group. Some did not believe in the man's idealism. Others were Hanzo's spies, already committing the man's face to memory, but most were Shinobi, and had been shinobi for many years.

And they had long ago dismissed the idea of peace, or of a world without war. They had seen too many hardships to have faith in such a thing anymore.

In the shadows of a nearby doorstep, another young man stood rigid. The speech had sent shivers down his spine. A mop of wet, dark-red hair hung across one eye, the other watching from the shadows.

It was an odd, ringed eye, although nobody would be able to tell in the gloom.

Yahiko waved, and retreated from the platform, even as the crowd dispersed. Nagato stepped out from his shadowy alcove, and ran after him, his feet making wet splashes on the puddles lining the street.

He thought he had lost his friend, when an arm suddenly looped its way around his neck, pulling him into an embrace.

"How did I do?" Yahiko asked, a wide grin on his face. Nagato bristled at the human contact.

"You managed to ostracize most of the Shinobi," Nagato said, looking away gloomily. "I don't know what you were thinking. We need them, don't we? For weapons and members?"

"Ah. Them," Yahiko muttered, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "They were never going to support us anyway. They're a part of this whole problem. All of them. Akatsuki will be built upon the people. Those who create, rather than simply destroy."

"But we're Shinobi, aren't we?" Nagato whispered, still frowning.

"No," Yahiko said firmly, shaking his head. "Not like them. More bloodshed can't be the answer. Akatsuki exists only to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Like Jiraiya said, remember?"

Nagato did remember.

Konan approached them, bundling up her hair under a small origami flower. "How did I do," she asked faintly, smiling.

"Perfect. We really won them over, didn't we?" Yahiko said.

Nagato frowned again, and pulled away from his friend. "But it was all a lie, wasn't it? Akatsuki doesn't exist yet. You said it yourself; we're poor, and we can't afford to hire anyone."

"But of course it does!"

Nagato stared at him blankly.

"Who else is there, besides us?"

"Nobody, but Akatsuki doesn't have to be large. In fact, it should never be large. Akatsuki is meant to be temporary, just until this war is over, and there's peace once again."

"Such a noble idea."

These words came from an entirely new source. A voice that was incredibly deep, and commanding. The three of them whipped around, to see an imposing figure, several inches taller than either of them, wearing an orange mask painted with black flames.

Through a single eye hole, a red pin-wheeled eye peered down at them.

"But what will you do to prevent future tragedies? Surely, you know such a state cannot last. Peace never does."

Yahiko's stance had become tense and defensive, and Nagato had mirrored him unconsciously. A subtle thought raced through all their minds, like a spark of electricity.

 _Is he going to attack?_

The masked man chucked, and waved a gloved hand.

"Now, now. I don't intend to mess with your little project in any way. I think it's a wonderful idea, really. An organization dedicated to bringing peace, with the support of the people. It might even work."

"What is it you want?" Yahiko asked, eyes as fierce as an animal's.

"Why, the same thing as the three of you," the man said, his voice ever so slightly condescending, as if he were speaking to unruly children. "Peace, for everyone. Eternally. A world where everyone can be happy."

"Do you mean to join Akatsuki?"

"I was rather thinking the opposite," the man said. "For you see, I have a way to achieve true peace. The kind that lasts forever, not the temporary wake of a brutal war. No, I have something much more grand in mind."

"Who are you?" Yahiko asked suddenly. "That's the Sharingan, isn't it?"

"Indeed. I," the man said, with a wave of his arm, "am Madara Uchiha, and I hope very much that you will join me in bringing peace to the world."

"Madara Uchiha died decades ago."

"Death is no barrier to one such as myself," the man said dismissively. "Neither is old age. I am imbued with glorious purpose, and I will not rest until my dream is brought to fruition. Surely, you can understand what I mean?"

Yahiko glared at him. "You're insane."

"Allow me to show you," Madara said, as his red eye spun hypnotically.

Suddenly, the four of them stood on atop Amegakure's highest building. The sky had lost it's familiar grey and blue hue, replaced with red and black storm clouds, much like Akatsuki's cloaks, as though a great fire illuminated the world.

Together, the four of them looked up, into a great ringed eye, deeply red, reflected on the surface of the moon.

"What.." Yahiko muttered in shock and horror. "What is this?"

"This is the Moon Eye Plan, and with it, I shall bring peace to the world."

"How?"

"With infinite hypnosis. Every man, woman, and child now resides within an eternal illusion. The world you see before you, of war and corruption, has been left behind entirely. The Moon Eye shall create a better one. One without bloodshed, or hatred, or loss."

"That's your idea of peace?" Yahiko stammered. "A world that doesn't exist?"

"Existence is relative," Madara said easily. "I assure you, it is as real to them as the illusion we stand in right now. It can even give the dead life again, in the illusion. Isn't that beautiful? A second chance, for everyone?"

"But they aren't real."

"They will be real," Madara said, his voice taking a dangerous tone. "As real as you or me. Nagato, you understand what it is I'm speaking of, don't you? Don't you want to see your parent's again?"

He stood, frozen, unable to respond. Yahiko stepped forward.

"Don't you dare use his family like that!" he yelled, walking up to the cloaked man. "You're a madman. Bringing back the dead? Ending all hatred? The world will never be the way we want it to be!"

"That is where you are wrong. The Sharingan has the power to bend reality to one's wishes." Madara sighed gustily, dismissing the illusion around them with a wave of his hand.

"You know, I really thought you'd all be more receptive."

"Let's go," Yahiko said firmly, taking his two teammates by the arm, and turning away from the man. He marched them down the street, but Nagato couldn't resist the urge to look back one last time, at the still figure of Madara Uchiha.

"I do hope you'll change your mind," the masked man said, and then with a jaunty wave, disappeared like a passing shadow.

"That man's dangerous," Yahiko muttered, still not letting go of his teammates' hands. "Stay away from him if he approaches you. I don't know if he's Madara Uchiha, or some crazy radical, but what he wants isn't peace. It's totalitarianism."

Nagato couldn't meet his friends eyes. He couldn't communicate how badly he did want to see his parents. Even if they were simply an illusion.

But that didn't matter. He was here now, with Yahiko. With his new family.

Yahiko pulled both of them close, into a hug far too big for his relatively small frame.

"We'll do it," he said, smiling in a way very reminiscent of their teacher. "We'll bring peace to this world. The three of us, together, and not the kind that man was talking about."

Nagato listened to the words, and found himself smiling, despite himself, fully absorbed by his friend's idealism.

But the world faded around him suddenly, and in the blink of an eye, he was cast into darkness.

* * *

 **Do you hate me?**

* * *

Nagato didn't know where he was. his eyes felt dull and heavy, crusted with something old and organic. His back ached. It was as though he'd been sleeping against a rock for several years.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered, open, revealing a cavernous room of shadow.

They turned down, to his hands.

Hideous, gnarled old things, pale and overrun with creases and veins. They were his, and he recognized them, even as he was revolted by their appearance.

They were so alien. So _wrong_.

He had to get out of here.

Nagato made to sit up, and agony struck through him. He realized, with sudden horror, that he was attached to the chair he sat in, somehow. He could not turn his neck to see what loomed behind him, but it's presence was horrifying.

He screamed.

It was a weak, pitiful thing. He felt as though he had not spoken in days, and what was meant to be a screech merely became a raspy cough.

What had been done to him? Where were Yahiko and Konan? Where could he possibly be?

Was it an illusion? He cast out a burst of chakra, a surprisingly massive amount, but the room around him failed to change in the slightest.

A sickening fear overtook him. It was Hanzo. It had to be him. Was he here for torture? Some insidious poison had given him the appearance of a corpse, and weakened him. What else could explain it?

He could not resist the urge to look down again, and once more, he was horrified at the alien nature of his body. It was like he had aged several decades in a matter of seconds.

 _Yahiko you fool,_ he found himself thinking. _I warned you. We shouldn't have antagonized Hanzo. Now look what's become of me._

 _Someone's coming._

He took ragged breaths, looking forward as a single door, the only one in the room, swung open, revealing a young woman.

Nagato's eyes flew wide in shock.

 _That blue hair, those eyes… It can't be..._

Konan looked at him with concern, but it was not the Konan he knew. She was tall, and wore Akatsuki's robes over a far more mature figure. Nagato writhed, and froze once again, as whatever was going on behind him caused enormous pain.

 _What's been done to you? What's been done to me?_

"Nagato," she said, looking distraught. "What's causing you pain?"

"What happened to you," Nagato rasped, and she immediately looked betrayed, and defensive. "What's become of me? Where are we? Where is Yahiko?"

Konan visibly flinched at the name, and stammered.

"I.. I don't know where the Deva Path is. What are you-"

"Don't speak to me in riddles!" Nagato roared. "Where is he! Where's Yahiko?"

Konan's eyes filled with tears, and she ran from the room, her cloak whipping behind her. Nagato struggled angrily in his seat, ignoring the searing pain.

Why was he so weak? Had that really been Konan, or just a convincing disguise?

He froze in his movement, at the appearance of a sudden churning in the air. The very world seemed to tug and warp around a single point, like a whirlpool in the very fabric of reality.

Within the hurricane, features become visible. A cloak, patterned with red clouds. A tall, imposing figure, and an orange swirled mask, revealing only a single red eye.

Madara Uchiha brushed himself off, and was immediately flung into the wall with a massive burst of force.

He struck the wall, creating a large crack in the thick rock. He stumbled to his feet, preparing to say something, but was sent flying again, this time with even greater force.

"What have you done?" Nagato cried, with such malice and anger the masked man was temporarily shaken, although he quickly overcame his fear.

"Only what you asked," he said, sounding more than a little irritated. "Is that any way to treat your old friend? What's become of you, Nagato?"

"Friend?" Nagato muttered, in shock. "What do you mean?"

Madara peered at him curiously, his red eye narrowing in suspicion and confusion.

"Do you truly not remember me?"

"I remember," Nagato said, his voice deep and angry. "I remember that vision you showed us. That awful husk of a world. What's happened to me? Where's Yahiko?"

Madara froze.

"Have you truly forgotten our vision? Our dream?"

He peered at Nagato, his Sharingan whirling, attempting to look into the man's mind, but was immediately sent into the wall once again.

Madara's voice was cruel now, and offended.

"What a way to treat your old friend. Nevertheless, I'll forgive this. You after all, cannot know what it is you're doing."

"Tell me," Nagato demanded, his ringed eyes focused and intent. "Tell me where I am."

"Akatsuki's Headquarters, of course," Madara replied. "This is your cathedral of war. The center from which you will bring peace to the world."

"Peace?"

"Eternal and perfect," Madara said, smiling beneath his mask. "You're a hero. Together, you and I are going to bring balance and order to the world. This is our dream."

"Our dream…" An image of Yahiko flashed across his mind.

"Where is Yahiko?"

"My old friend," the masked man said, getting to his feet. "I'm afraid your memory seems to have failed you. He died many years ago."

 _Many years ago._

Nagato sat silently, trying to understand this new development. An older Konan, his hands, whatever this horrible thing was attached to his back,

 _Yahiko died..._

"This must be quite shocking to you," Madara said sympathetically, brushing himself off. "I hope whatever has affected your memory is temporary. It would be a great loss to Akatsuki if you were unable to function as our leader."

"Akatsuki…" Nagato muttered, still struggling to comprehend his sudden jump through time.

"Yes. We grow ever closer to peace," Madara said. "That is, after all, the purpose of Akatsuki. To bring peace to the world."

Nagato said nothing.

"I'll leave you be for now," Madara said, as a new rift in space opened up next to him. "Perhaps your memory will return to you."

And then, Nagato was alone in the room once again. Alone with his thoughts, his frail body, and the knowledge that somewhere in history, he had failed.


End file.
